Prelude to a Kiss
by emerita
Summary: Sequel to Just Desserts. What happens between Jack leaving & Chuck’s birthday. Series of related one-shots set at various points along the way. Rated T for now. *Spoilers*
1. Chapter 1

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**A/N: **Many apologies for such a long note, but there are a couple things that might require explanation. Just Desserts was my first story and I originally planned it to be a one-shot. It developed (seemingly of its own will) into something larger. It was so full of angst that I wanted to end on a good note but didn't want to sacrifice much needed emotional growth (on both characters' parts). I solved this conundrum by adding a fifth chapter as an epilogue that flashes forward four months to Chuck's birthday. I didn't count on wanting to write the story of how Chuck and Blair got to a somewhat happy ending (or beginning as is the case).

Basically, if you've read Just Desserts you know how this is going to end. However, I hope that you are as curious about their journey to finding each other as I am. (And I'll try to keep the angst to a minimum.)

Finally, I started this before Monday's episode, so please forgive my literary license.

* * *

_If I say it, he wins and if he wins, then I'll just... be another girl to him._

_What are you waiting on? Go be better._

Blair gazed at her bedroom clock, sighing dejectedly as the seconds ticked by. Nine days. Three hours. She wasn't so sure of how many minutes, but she thought it might be 17. That's how long it had been since she had made the most dim-witted decision of her life.

Chuck had been on the verge of saying those three little words until she had stopped him. Told him that it wasn't enough. That she deserved better.

She needed to have her head examined.

What originally started as a good plan (secretly christened the "Scare Bass Straight" project) was tearing her resolve to shreds. Turned out that almost hearing those magic words was a hundred times worse than hearing "that's too bad." And this time, she only had herself to blame.

During the past nine days, three hours, and 18 or so minutes, she'd replayed the scene over in her head a thousand times. Each time longing for a different ending, cursing the little voice inside her head that whispered despite the second thoughts, she made the right choice. Chuck needed time to work through his daddy issues. Then maybe he'd be ready to be in a real relationship. One where she didn't have to worry about him picking up a random call girl instead of dinner. The type of relationship that a girl like her ought to have.

But in the end, despite what Blair Waldorf did or did not deserve, she wanted Chuck Bass. _Badly_.

She missed his pervy comments, snide smirk, and annoying squint. The flamboyant wardrobe that clashed against the drab standard black uniform of New York. The silly semi-whisper that he proudly considered his "scotch voice."

She missed her plotting partner. Her friend. Her lover.

She missed the old Chuck. The one that didn't cut her to the core with sarcasm. The one that had met her on the rooftop of a Brooklyn art gallery, eyes brimming with anticipation.

She was sure the old Chuck was there, buried somewhere deep inside the Basshole underneath layers of drugs, alcohol, and lord knows what else. Like Cyrus told her (what seemed like a lifetime ago), he just needed time.

Blair blinked and the minute hand ticked up a notch. _Nineteen minutes._

"This is ridiculous," she muttered to the empty room. Constance's Queen B did not mope around her bedroom all day, pining after _him._ No, she did what came naturally. She took matters in to her own hands.

Half an hour later, Blair was on her way to the van der Bass apartment, primped and curled, with a cover story in hand thanks to a last minute text from Serena.

She had practically begged Chuck to be better. Sure, he could do it on his own. But what was the harm in helping him speed up the process?

* * *

Chuck Bass was the type of man who took what he wanted and worried about the consequences later. Despite years of haughty disapproval, his father hadn't been able to curb this headstrong tendency. That Lily was trying to do just that was laughable. After all this time together, she should know better than to try to restrain Chuck's natural tendencies. Forbidden fruit tasted the sweetest and there was something truly delectable just begging for his attention in the next room.

He eased opened his bedroom door and peered down the hallway. Thankfully, it was van der Woodsen (and, more importantly, Humphrey) free. Chuck quietly slipped into the hallway, doing his best to camouflage the sound the bedroom door closing behind him. He trekked towards the living room, all the while trying to squash the pang that developed somewhere in the vicinity of his heart at disobeying Lily's wishes. They might have had their differences, but Lily had come through for him and was quickly turning out to be more of a parent than he'd had before. Considering Bart's parenting skills, it wasn't saying much.

With one last sweeping glance to ensure the coast was clear, Chuck slipped into the kitchen and came face-to-face with his greatest temptation. Any second thoughts fled his mind as he reached out to touch his obsession. He was like an addict and the van der Woodsen's knew, that faced with his drug of choice, he would cave sooner or later.

Unable to resist a moment longer, he traced the black etched onto the cream colored box. _Patisserie Claude_. Not only a premier bakery on the Upper East Side, but producers of the best French pastries this side of the Atlantic. Savoring the moment, Chuck breathed deeply and opened box. Nestled inside were six absolutely scrumptious chocolate éclairs. _His favorite_. Lily was delusional if she thought he'd be able to resist them until tonight's familial gathering with the Brooklynites.

He hesitated to mar the perfection. The éclairs from Patisserie Claude were truly a work of art. Like a Jackson Pollock or the Mona Lisa. They deserved to be appreciated for their beauty and—

"Fuck it," Chuck muttered as he bit into the cream-filled confection. His eyes closed in ecstasy as his taste buds leapt to life.

He was just about to lick the chocolate from his fingers when the ding of the elevator and the sound of footsteps let him know he'd been caught red-handed. Not wanting to waste even a bit of culinary Heaven, he stuck his finger in his mouth and turned to face his executioner.

Of all people, it was _her_. The brunette who had haunted his thoughts for the better part of a week.

"Elle?" he said, the surprise evident in his voice. "What are you doing here?"

She smiled tentatively. "I need your help."

* * *

Blair held the elevator door open unable to believe her eyes. Chuck was in the kitchen of Serena's apartment and very much involved in kissing a petite brunette. So involved, that he didn't notice they were no longer alone.

For a moment, she was back at Victrola, watching as he draped himself with women and listening as he spewed words that broke her heart. Broke her.

_Never again._ Blair stepped towards the back of the elevator and let the doors shut Chuck Bass out of her life. For the past nine days, she had moped around like some lovesick puppy. Apparently, the Basshole hadn't given her a second thought.

She tried to hold the tears back, but it was just too much. First the drama with her almost expulsion, then her father's crushing disappointment, and now this. She let them fall and soothe her ragged emotions. She was just so tired of trying and failing. Her life was supposed to be perfect with _him_ in it. But, in the end, it didn't matter. She was just another girl in Chuck's rolodex of conquests.

As the elevator neared the first floor, Blair pulled herself together and made a resolution. Hell would freeze over before she let Chuck Bass touch her, or her heart, again.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

"Mother Fuc—"

Chuck broke off mid-swear and winced at his newly nicked chin. It was the second time he had cut himself shaving this morning. It wasn't a task he performed often with an actual blade. Although he preferred the closer shave of a "real" razor, it was a task best left to his barber. He would have used his automatic shaver, but it had mysteriously disappeared into the ether.

It was most likely the work of one of his newly adoptive siblings. Chuck couldn't imagine what they were actually doing with it. He was pretty sure Eric wasn't shaving yet and Serena seemed more of the waxing type. Maybe it was vengeance for some imagined slight against them (or their BFF). He was still new to the sibling dynamic and didn't always understand all the intricacies of how it worked.

Or what level of payback was acceptable to reign down on the heads of family.

He finished his shave with one last swipe of the razor and quickly rinsed the remaining lather away. A glance at his watch let told him he was already behind schedule. Although St. Jude's had been lenient in his suspension, Chuck had only been back for a week and didn't want to test the limits of Headmistress Queller's patience. Apparently, tardiness was a sin only eclipsed by smoking hash on school premises.

He slid into a yellow Gucci dress shirt and mentally cursed the St. Jude's uniform. Four years of yellow shirts, khaki pants, and blue blazers was enough to last a lifetime. It would be nice to spice things up every now and then. An orange shirt here, a purple tie there. Anything to kill the monotony.

"Hurry it up, Chuck!" Serena screeched as she banged on his bedroom door. "If you're not downstairs in exactly two minutes, we're taking the limo to school without you."

"Stay away from my ride, van der Woodsen!" he yelled as he grabbed his tie and blazer. Getting dressed in a limo wasn't his favorite pastime, but Serena wasn't one to make idle threats. Not to mention, forcing Chuck to walk to school would give his _dear sister_ another chance to exact a pound of flesh in Blair's stead. He grabbed his book bag and rushed out the door. He wasn't going to begin the day as the subject of a pithy gossip girl blast.

He rounded the corner at a full run only to see Serena smirk as the elevator doors closed, leaving the stairs his only chance of catching the limo.

"Son of a bitch."

"Charles, watch your language."

He hated it when Rufus decided to play dad like he was some poor little orphan boy in need of nurturing. He turned to deliver a particularly scathing set down, only to receive the shock of his life.

It wasn't Rufus sitting at the dining table. It was Bart Bass.

"Father?" he asked in confusion. "You're dead."

"Obviously not," came the reply from behind the newspaper.

Chuck stood stunned into silence.

Bart calmly folded the paper as he rose from his chair and moved towards Chuck. "We both know it would take more than a car to kill me, son. Be honest, deep down you _knew_ something wasn't right. That there was more to the story."

"But, why?" Chuck sputtered in confusion. "I don't understand. Why would you do this to us? To me?"

"Do you think I had a choice, Charles? Unfortunately, you can't deny the federal government when they 'request' your assistance. I returned to my family as soon as I possibly could."

Chuck realized he was crying. Had been for several minutes now. After three months of pure hell, his most secret desire had come true. _His father was alive._

"Do you know what I've been through?" he yelled, unable to control the tears. "Do you know what I did to this family? To Blair? Because of you?"

His father pulled him into an embrace and held him until the sobs no longer racked his body. It felt good to be there in his father's arms. For the first time in a long time, Chuck felt like he was home.

Embarrassed at his unmanly show of emotion, Chuck pulled away and sheepishly glanced at his father's face. He was surprised to see that he wasn't the only one that had cried like a little girl.

"I love you, Charles," Bart began. "Your mother was the best thing that ever happened to me. And you're a part of her. A part of me. The best part of both of us. I'm sorry I ever made you doubt that."

He could feel the tears gathering behind his eyes once more.

"I'm proud of the man you've become."

Chuck's bubble burst as he was overcome with the sudden urge to come clean about the months after his father's "death." He would disappoint his father yet again.

"Don't be." Chuck said, mentally bracing for the lecture that was sure to follow his confession. "I handled the situation in the worst possible way. I almost blackmailed Lily, spent a month hopped up on opium in a Thai bordello, and did my best to destroy every relationship in my life."

His father smiled in understanding. "The best thing about the people who love you is their ability to see the goodness inside. And forgive the times when hurt keeps that goodness from shining through. Your friends will understand."

"Blair never will. The things I did, the things I said. They were unforgivable."

"Charles, there is no love without forgiveness. She loves you. If you allow yourself to love her in return and give her a chance, she'll forgive you."

"I don't know if it'll be that easy," Chuck sighed in frustration. "I can't seem to be the person she wants me to be."

Bart chuckled in replied. "I never said it was going to be easy. You're going to have to try harder. Now, you best get going. You don't want to keep the lovely Miss Waldorf waiting too long."

A sense of dread washed over Chuck. Something wasn't right. "What are you talking about, Dad?"

"I'm sure she's saving you a dance at the ball," Bart said as he turned away from Chuck and walked towards the elevator.

Then he knew. And despite knowing, Chuck still said the words. "What ball?"

Bart paused to gather his coat and pressed the elevator call button before replying. "The Snowflake Ball, of course."

Chuck looked down, stunned to see the yellow shirt and khaki pants he'd been wearing the moment before had morphed into the glittered Seville Row tuxedo he'd worn _that_ night.

_It was happening again._

"I'm leaving to meet Lily. I'll see you there." Bart said as he stepped into the now open elevator.

"Don't!" Chuck screamed as he ran towards the elevator and the doors started to close. "Dad! Don't go!"

"Don't worry, Charles. Everything's going to be okay," Bart said as they slid shut.

* * *

Chuck woke with a start. He'd had the dream. Again.

Each time it began differently. This time it began with him getting ready for school. Last time, it had been a Board of Directors meeting. Once, it had snuck up on him while he dreamt of dancing with Blair at some ritzy restaurant.

The dream always ended the same way. Chuck chasing after his father, trying and failing, to keep him from dying. He was never able to run quick enough and always arrived just in time to see Bart bleed out on a dirty New York street. It was kind of poetic considering the fact that the old man had actually died in an ambulance while en route to the nearest hospital.

This time had been different. It had felt real. For those brief moments, his subconscious mind had tricked him into believing in fairytales. Waking up to reality bordered on devastating. It reminded him of the weeks after the accident when he would forget that Bart died only to remember the next instant. It had been reliving his father's death over and over.

The dream was probably a sign that he needed to see the therapist Lily had so tactfully suggested.

But if the dreams went away, his last connection to his father would go with them. His memories of Bart were already starting to fade. Chuck found it hard to recall the exact timbre of his voice or the cadence of his walk--things that he had been burned into his brain since childhood.

Whoever would have thought that he'd actually miss the bastard this much?

Chuck rolled over and hugged his pillow to ease the pain. And because he was alone and no one would hear, he cried. Not for what was, but for what could have been. And now, never would be.

* * *

_You've got a good heart. Go give it to someone who cares._

Chuck watched Elle walk exit through the revolving doors of the hotel, her words echoing behind her. He felt like an ass. Hell, he was an ass.

Chuck Bass, womanizer extraordinaire, had been played by a high-class call girl. It was beyond embarrassing.

It was beyond confusing.

Why this time, why this girl?

He must be losing his mind. This morning's dream combined with his idiotic travel plans pointed to insanity. The grief and misplaced (according to Lily) guilt were literally driving him out of his mind. And not in a pleasant, drug induced way.

Things couldn't go on like this. They had to stop. He had to get better, _be better_.

But where to begin?

Chuck stood transfixed in the middle of the crowded lobby as his father's words returned to him. _Don't keep lovely Miss Waldorf waiting too long._ He bit off a curse and pushed towards the hotel exit.

Bart was always right, even when dead and a figment of Chuck's imagination.

* * *

**A/N:** My father died of a heart attack five years ago. Sometimes, it still feels like it was yesterday. I used to dream about trying (& failing) to save him despite the fact that I was two hundred miles away at college when he passed. I imagine Chuck would struggle with the same thing.

I was inspired to write this chapter after I had a dream of my father last week. In it we danced and laughed like we did when I was younger. He was alive and my subconscious forgot to remind me of the truth. For those precious moments, being in his arms again really did feel like home.


End file.
